


She had her heart

by lavande



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Kissing, Lesbian Jordan Baker, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavande/pseuds/lavande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jordan Baker is alone, reflecting about Daisy and her marriage with Tom, and herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She had her heart

**Author's Note:**

> Jordan Baker is, obviously, a lesbian. 
> 
> She is in love with Daisy Buchanan.
> 
> I needed to cater to this. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://www.oscarwildx.tumblr.com).

The heart was a funny thing, really.

 

Jordan Baker pondered this, reclining on a sumptuous settee that had been paid for by her best friend’s husband, Tom Buchanan.

She was facing the ceiling which she now pitched a golfball towards with a careless elegance, only to catch it in her firm, tanned hand a moment later.

Her best friend, Daisy Buchanan, was not home at this time.

Neither was her husband.

Or her daughter.

In fact, Jordan was currently the only one in a house that did not belong to her.

She doubted that Tom would be overjoyed to know her in his domicile in his absence, because he already tended to treat her with very thinly veiled disdain whenever they met. 

And that was when he consented to her invading his home.

Reminiscing his arrogant, dismissive tone, Jordan let out a tinkling laugh.

 

Maybe she should break into his gin stash later, she was suddenly in the mood for a nice drink.

Of course, she could have acquired that practically anywhere, knowing whom to pass a flirtatious glance, but taking from him had its own thrill, even though or indeed _because_ he would surely notice that someone had watered down the alcohol, and, naturally, since it didn’t involve going out.

She flicked her wrist again lazily and sent the golfball flying.

The boredom was killing her.

 

Enough to make her start thinking about _feelings_ , even.

And this when the clock hadn't reached five in the afternoon yet.

How terribly mundane.

 

Her gaze fell to a porcelain vase resting on a small coffee table at the other side on the room.

It had a golden rim and was very decorative, yet fairly nondescript. Placed in the corner, it reminded her of her friend in the company of her husband.

Daisy had fully mastered the art of being the vapid wife.

Although Jordan knew there to be an amazing wit beyond her trivial façade and Daisy often tried to let it shimmer through for Tom, he, being one of the most obtuse men Jordan had had the poor fortune of meeting, barely picked up on any of his wife’s skilled comments.

Jordan Baker could easily claim that, in the intellectual respect, she made a substantially better match for her friend.

 

She wouldn’t have openly pronounced that he was lucky to have his wealth to hook a woman like Daisy, but she didn’t need to.

Barely anyone who had met the both of them could overlook it.

Now, Jordan still didn’t think that Daisy was boring or even seemed to be.

But she certainly knew how to hide many of her good qualities in the company of Tom’s business partners and friends.  

On the other hand, maybe that was Jordan’s wishful thinking.

 

A desire that these days, she might be the only person fully able to appreciate Daisy’s true essence.

Apart from, well, Jay Gatsby, perhaps, unaware of his proximity to her.

Admittedly, Daisy had always drawn attention to herself.

Her beauty could only be aptly described as an inherent glow, and sometimes, when Jordan accompanied Daisy in her home or at a gathering she attended without her husband, she managed emit the same magnetic pull Jordan had been exposed to numerous times since and during their youth.  

She often found her thoughts wandering to some specific instances of that attraction, lately.

The more obvious Tom’s affair became, the more Daisy seeked her companionship and it filled Jordan with a thick nostalgia.

In moments of time alone together, their friendship almost resembled what Jordan would have liked it to be before Daisy had met Gatsby.

Jordan kept vivid memories of one summer afternoon when the two of them, brought together not for the first time but still by chance, had decided to stroll around remote woods, close to Daisy’s parents’ home, bored out of their minds, sweating profusely in their light-colored sundresses.

They had been looking for mushrooms that Jordan could identify and rate by their degree of deadly poisonousness, giggling when she carelessly plucked a bright toadstool and dangled it above her open mouth.

She had pretended to want to drop it into the opening between her teeth to hear Daisy shriek in gleeful terror, only to throw it away with a broad gesture at the last second instead.

Jordan had bursted into a fit of amusement and clutched Daisy’s pale, freckled shoulder, inadvertently drawing the other girl close into a sloppy embrace as they both collapsed from laughter.

In their enjoyment, they hadn't even noticed that they were lying in the forest dirt, rendering their clothes filthy.

Jordan had been scolded harshly for the stains in the evening.

 

Before Jordan had realized it, Daisy was hovering above her with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Jordan” she had whispered.

Never had her name been charged with so many things left unspoken, yet Daisy had managed to utter it with a condescending airiness that was distinctively _her_.

Daisy looked into her curious eyes while she approached Jordan’s mouth with her own.

Although Jordan knew it was going to happen, the touch of the other girl’s lips to her own struck her with surprise.

Daisy was soft.

 

Obviously, how would she ever have assumed to encounter anything but softness in her touch.

After a few seconds of stillness on her part, Jordan pressed herself closer to her friend, tenderly reciprocating the pressure Daisy was exerting.

Experimentally, she placed her hand on Daisy’s jaw, brushing a stray hair that had been sticking to her sweaty temple behind her ear.

She moved a little bit on the ground so she could lean towards Daisy more easily.

A few minutes passed, they occasionally stopped to breathe, until Daisy’s hands started exploring Jordan’s body as well.

She gently cupped her friend’s breast and moved down her side in a stroking motion, concurrently proceeding to kiss Jordan rather intently.

At this point, Jordan began to sense a heat spreading through her body that was decidedly not caused by the high summer temperatures. She disengaged from the kiss to calm herself, resting her cheek against Daisy’s pale neck, breathing against her delicate, sweat-covered skin.

But despite her efforts to slow down her accelerated heart rate, she became even more agitated in the next moments as Daisy did not refrain from touching her.

Soon enough, she could barely contain herself, squirming under her friend’s body. It almost seemed like too much, but not quite.

The tension left her and she let herself drop to the earth beneath her.

 

“Jordan” Daisy whispered again, intensely.

 

At the memory, Daisy felt something pull at her heart.

She doubted that a situation resembling that one would seriously occur again between the two of them, but even with her tendency to keep the truth from herself and others when she saw fit, it was impossible to deny that she still harbored an almost desperate hope.   

 

She needed to leave this house, this testament of everything that kept Daisy from her, immediately.

Filled with a mixture of sweet pain and disappointed disgust, she jumped to her feet graciously, touching her lips for a moment before walking out of the room, then sneaking out of the backdoor, though she did not actually expect to be seen here.

 

She only became aware that she had left the golfball lying next to the settee when she was already glaring at a the man next to her in her preferred speakeasy of the week.

With a soundless sigh, she downed her drink, allowing herself to go back to the afternoon in the woods just for the time it took her to swallow.

 

What a funny thing, that heart of hers.


End file.
